Truly Yours Historical Collection December 2014

by Susan Page Davis, Paige Winship Dooly, Connie Stevens

  The men continued to move closer.

  “I’m starting to think we made a really bad decision in coming here.”

  The sneers on the men’s faces scared Hollan to her toes.

  “You’re just starting to think that? I came to that conclusion when we first saw the throng of men coming our way.”

  The men neared the far side of the bonfire. Suddenly, as quickly as they’d appeared, they stopped and started to back away.

  “Pray again, Sylvia, I think your prayers are working.”

  “I’ve already said my prayer, Hollan. I don’t need to repeat myself to God.”

  The men looked wary and then alarmed. They turned heel and began to run.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Me, either.” Sylvia laughed. “But I like it!”

  “I do, too.” Hollan grinned with relief. “If and when we get out of this situation, let’s not ever get ourselves into another.”

  A deep male voice whispered into Hollan’s ear, “Is that a promise?”

  Hollan screamed.

  Jacob leaned around her. “Don’t be afraid, Hollan. It’s only me.”

  “You?” Hollan spun around. Her father, the sheriff, Uncle Edward—and most every man from town—formed a line that stretched across the beach.

  “Papa.” Her father grinned at her. He didn’t seem too angry. Jacob, on the other hand—he seemed angry enough for the both of them. He was possibly angry enough for the entire group.

  “Well, I guess now we know why they turned and ran.”

  “Hollan. We’ll discuss this later.”

  “That’s all right,” Hollan hedged. “We don’t really have to discuss it at all. Let’s just let bygones be bygones and start fresh like you said.”

  “We will discuss this.” The fire reflected in his eyes and intensified the emerald green color. His golden hair hung loose in wild curls that danced across his shoulders. He towered over her, looking every bit the outlaw rogue she’d imagined him to be on their wedding day.

  A commotion up ahead interrupted their conversation.

  “What is it?” Hollan stood on her tiptoes but still couldn’t see. Some of the men who had gone ahead returned.

  “It seems the bonfire offered a much-needed diversion for the naval patrol. They were able to make landfall and sneak in behind David and his men. They’re rounding them up as we speak.”

  A cheer rose up from Hollan’s friends.

  “But how—?”

  The sheriff walked up with a huge grin on his face. “They knew where David was all along. They only needed the perfect break to come in and overwhelm them. Hollan, your bonfire created that diversion.”

  Hollan smirked at Jacob.

  He quirked up the corner of his mouth and shrugged his shoulder.

  Most of the men were drifting back the other direction. They were ready to head home.

  Her father, Sylvia, and the sheriff walked ahead. Jacob and Hollan followed at a more leisurely pace.

  “You know what this means.” Jacob took Hollan’s hand in his own.

  “We can go home.” Tears filled Hollan’s eyes as she said the words. “Finally, after everything that’s happened, we can go home.”

  “I like the sound of that, wife.”

  “That is, if we have a home left to go back to.”

  “Our cottage is tougher than a few crusty outlaws.” Jacob smiled. “Our home will withstand more than that.” He stopped and pulled her into his arms. “More importantly. . .home for me is wherever you are.”

  “Oh, Jacob, that’s so sweet.” Hollan considered his words. “But it’s also very true. I feel the same exact way.”

  Epilogue

  Once again Hollan faced Jacob on a dune overlooking the ocean. This time nothing about the situation felt surreal. The wedding was the wedding of her dreams. And the man who stood beside her was as familiar to her as her own face. All of her loved ones stood alongside them to witness the event.

  Their house—now put back in order after their adventure—and the untouched lighthouse stood sentry behind them. Samson ran between all the people, savoring their attention and happy to be back home.

  The afternoon couldn’t have been more perfect for their ceremony. The seagulls serenaded as they flew overhead. The ever-present sound of the waves crashing onshore brought a familiar comforting reassurance. Hollan would never tire of the roar of the surf from the Atlantic Ocean. She couldn’t wait to wade along the tide line with her husband.

  She turned her attention to the man at her side. She saw him clearly. She drank in his dimpled smile, his sparkling green eyes, and the way his golden hair blew in the wind. The sun silhouetted his broad shoulders and proved he wasn’t the skinny boy who’d left three years before. The planes of Jacob’s face had indeed changed with the years, but the changes were all for the better. And Hollan knew from recent experience that Jacob still didn’t like to stay indoors any more than necessary, which accounted for his sun-kissed skin.

  Her uncle’s voice intruded on her musings. “Hollan. Jacob. I think we’re all about ready. Let’s do this ceremony right.”

  “We’re ready, too,” Jacob said with a grin. He gently squeezed Hollan’s hand.

  She nodded.

  Uncle Edward smiled at her. “No regrets?”

  “Never. Not a one.”

  “Jacob, has life on the island been everything you thought it would be?” Uncle Edward asked.

  For a moment, Jacob could only laugh. Hollan watched him with a frown.

  “Edward, we’ve been through a hurricane, I saved Hollan’s life—more than once. I watched her captured at the hands of outlaws. I helped her escape. We slept outside with all the bugs on the Georgia coast and the various creepy-crawlies and reptiles. We found out about Fletcher’s attack and were chased again by the outlaws. . . .”

  “When you put it that way”—Hollan’s heart plummeted—“I’m not even sure why you’d want to stay. Why did you keep coming for me, even when I put us in danger?”

  “My unending love and protection of you is similar to God’s unending love and sacrifice for us. Hollan, as long as God allows me the privilege, I’ll be right here to pull you away from any danger that comes our way.”

  Hollan smiled.

  “And Edward, to answer your question—” Jacob looked at them both, but his eyes settled on Hollan. The look of love he sent her filled her heart to bursting. “This experience has been everything I imagined and more.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, son.” Uncle Edward slapped Jacob on the back and turned to welcome their guests.

  Again he made quick work of the ceremony.

  “Jacob, you may now kiss your bride.”

  Hollan grinned up at him. This was the perfect moment.

  Jacob leaned forward and touched his lips to hers in the most gentle of kisses. Hollan’s heart soared.

  About the Author

  PAIGE WINSHIP DOOLY is the author of over a dozen books and novellas, with four more books due out in the next year. She enjoys living in the coastal Deep South with her family, after having grown up in the sometimes extremely cold Midwest. She is happily married to her high school sweetheart and loves their life of adventure in a full house with six homeschooled children, a cat, and three dogs.

  A note from the Author:

  I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:

  Paige Winship Dooly

  Author Relations

  PO Box 721

  Uhrichsville, OH 44683

  ISBN 978-1-61626-017-0

  LEAVE ME NEVER

  Copyright © 2010 by Connie Stevens. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotatio
ns are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  one

  Willow Creek, Iowa, 1881

  Looking into Mama’s face had always been like looking into a mirror, but not anymore. The skin on Mama’s face hung over her cheekbones, creating gaunt hollows where beauty once resided. Tessa wiped her tears with the hem of her apron. For the first time in months, the lines between her mother’s brows smoothed out. Her struggle was over.

  “Mama.” Tessa’s own whisper echoed within the wagon canvas. “Oh Mama, please don’t leave me here. Take me with you.” Brokenness more cruel than anything she’d ever known invaded her heart with an onslaught so brutal she couldn’t remember how to breathe. She straightened out her mother’s fingers and laced them together in a posture of prayer, hoping against hope those fingers would squeeze hers once more. They didn’t.

  With leaden legs, Tessa slid to the end of the tailgate and lowered herself to the ground. Dawn had broken, but the morning mist still lingered over the unfamiliar town. Papa hadn’t returned to their rickety wagon all night. Why wasn’t he here? No doubt he drank himself blind again.

  God, I need help. I don’t know what to do.

  She forced her eyes to scan her surroundings—for what, she wasn’t sure. The edge of town where Papa left the wagon yesterday didn’t offer much of a vantage point. A giant elm tree and thick underbrush offered meager privacy from the nearest building, the livery. Horses dozed in the corral, uninterested in her plight. The rest of the town seemed set apart, as though a line had been drawn in the dirt that she and her family weren’t permitted to cross.

  Farther down the street, a patchwork of brick and board buildings lined up like mourners in a funeral procession. An occasional sign, hitching rail, or picket fence broke the monotony of weathered storefronts, but the silent buildings offered no hint of the people residing within. Was there anybody in this town who could help her do what needed to be done?

  Under different circumstances, she might consider this a pretty little town. She moved forward and crossed the space between the wagon and the corral, stopping at the watering trough in front of the livery. Her reflection in the still water startled her. A stranger—weary and disheveled—looked back at her. She dipped her cupped hands into the trough and lifted cool water to her face. With wet fingers she smoothed her hair. The cramped muscles in her back protested as she straightened to look down the street. Papa was nowhere to be seen.

  Tessa’s feet balked. Part of her heart was back in the wagon, stilled and unbreathing. Her constant source of unfailing love was now silent. Gentle, uncomplaining Carly Langford, her precious mama, would never call her “honey girl” again.

  As she stood anchored in place by her grief, the gradual sights, smells, and sounds of a town awakening from slumber stretched their arms and yawned a greeting to the sun. Frying bacon and fresh-perked coffee wafted on the air. Then a rooster crowed. Strange sounds seeped into her awareness, and she realized it was birds chirping to each other in the trees. Eventually shopkeepers opened their doors to welcome the start of a new day. The comforting music of a town where everything was as it should be.

  How could such cheerfulness exist? What was the matter with these people? Tessa wanted to scream for everyone to stop. Didn’t they care that her mama just died?

  “Miss?”

  Tessa turned.

  A tall, dark-haired young man stood behind her. His image wavered through her tears. “Miss, are you all right? Can I call somebody for you?”

  She blinked back the tears and drew in the deepest breath she could manage. “A preacher. I need a preacher.”

  The stranger took her by the elbow and guided her to the board sidewalk. “Why don’t you sit down here, miss? I’ll go find the preacher and bring him. Can I get you anything?”

  Tessa shook her head. The movement felt numbed and disconnected. As soon as she sat, the stranger strode away down the street. A slight breeze lifted the wisps of hair that lay along her cheek. “Oh God, I wanted to go with Mama. Why couldn’t You take me, too?”

  The rooster crowed again. A pair of little boys ran down the boardwalk, their laughter trailing strangely in their wake.

  The wide doors of the livery opened, first one then the other. A wiry, whiskered man in a leather apron propped a rock in front of each door. He returned inside but reappeared a few moments later, dragging Papa by the arm. “Get on outta here. This ain’t no hotel for drunks.”

  Papa stumbled over his feet, hitting the dust with a thud. His half-empty whiskey bottle broke on impact. Curses spewed from him as he got to his knees, contaminating the air with vile oaths. He squinted in her direction. “Tessa! Tessa, that you?”

  Tessa squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could block out the sound of her father’s voice. Where was he when Mama needed him? “Yes, Papa, I’m here.”

  Papa staggered to his feet and kicked the remaining shards of broken glass. “What’re you doin’ just sittin’ there, girl? Get me some breakfast.”

  A dull throb at the base of her skull caused Papa’s demands to ring in her ears. “There is no breakfast, Papa. Nothing but the corn dodgers left from yesterday.”

  Storm clouds built behind her father’s eyes. “Whadja say to me?” His voice slurred, and his watery, bloodshot eyes narrowed into slits. “You miserable little brat. How dare ya talk that way to your papa!”

  He drew his hand back and slapped her across the face, sending her sprawling into the dirt. The metallic taste of blood touched her tongue, but she didn’t care. Nothing Papa did mattered now. Her heart was numb.

  Papa lurched over to where she lay in the dirt. He grabbed her arm and yanked her up then backhanded her again, knocking her backward against the livery door.

  “Hey! Stop that!” The unfamiliar voice seeped through her daze. “What’s the matter with you, mister?” The same stranger who told her he’d get the preacher stood before her. “Miss? Are you all right?”

  She blinked and realized two men held Papa up by his arms and that another older man stood beside the dark-haired stranger.

  “Are you all right, miss?” The older gentleman with thin, silver hair echoed the younger man as he bent to peer at her.

  What difference did it make? “Yes, I’m all right.”

  “I’m Pastor Witherspoon. Gideon here says you need a preacher.”

  Gideon? Tessa slid her gaze to the tall young man. His dark scowl was fixed on Papa, but when he turned to look at Tessa, his eyes immediately softened into something foreign. Is that what sympathy looked like?

  “Do you know that man?” His voice was low and even. The young man’s finger pointed at Papa, who stood with splayed legs, swaying as though the breeze would blow him over.

  “He’s my father.”

  “Where is your mother, child?” Pastor Witherspoon touched Tessa’s hand.

  In order to answer the preacher, she would have to give voice to words she didn’t want to speak. Loathsome, ugly words. But the preacher awaited her answer.

  “Mama … Mama’s in the wagon. She’s …” Tessa couldn’t allow the word to cross her lips, as though holding it back would erase the reality. If she didn’t speak it, it simply wasn’t so.

  The man called Gideon strode across the yard in front of the livery to where the wagon sat partially concealed by low-hanging branches from the elm and drew aside the flap. He stepped up and leaned inside the canvas then exited slowly. “She’s dead, Preacher.”

  “Dead!” Papa roared. “I told you!” He pointed his finger at Tessa. “This is your doin’. It’s your fault. If it weren’t for you, I’d still have a wife. You killed her, sure as I’m standin’ here. Your mo
ther’s death is on your head, you no-good, miserable—”

  “That’s enough!” The dark-haired man drew back a fist.

  Before he could throw the punch, the preacher grabbed his arm. “Gideon!” Pastor Witherspoon turned him away from Papa. “This young lady needs our help now, and her mother needs a Christian burial. Let’s get busy and do what needs doing.”

  Gideon nodded, cast another withering glance at Tessa’s father, and motioned to the livery man in the leather apron. “Cully, can you take him back behind the barn and let him sleep it off?”

  “I ain’t sleepin’ now. I got things to do.” The familiar belligerence of Papa’s tone stung Tessa’s ears. She knew better than to believe these men could change his mind.

  Pastor Witherspoon stepped forward. “Sir, your wife’s funeral is going to take place in just a little while. Why don’t you go clean up and get some coffee, and when we’re ready for the burial, you can—”

  “I don’t have time for no buryin’.” He threw a glare at Tessa and pointed his chin at her. “She can do that. I got business.” He shrugged off the men on either side of him. “Leave me alone. I got things to do.”

  He stalked down the street, leaving the small group staring after him.

  All except Gideon. He looked at Tessa with such sympathy and compassion that she nearly lost control of what little resolve she had left.

  She looked away and stiffened her spine. Papa would be drunk the rest of the day. It was up to her to see to it her mother was treated with the respect and caring she deserved. “Pastor, can you help me bury my mother?”

  The elderly preacher took her hand and patted it. “Of course, child.”

  Gideon stepped forward. “I’ll take care of it, Pastor. If you can look after Miss …”

  “Langford,” Tessa supplied. “Tessa Langford. My father is Doyle Langford, and Mama … Mama’s name is Carly.”

  The preacher turned to Tessa. “Come with me, child. Mrs. Dunnigan at the boardinghouse will give you something to eat and a place to freshen up.”